Berceuse
by Eden Cespedes
Summary: After Sebastian suffers a grievous injury, Ciel tries to persuade his butler to take some time off to recover. Set between chapters 65 and 66 in the manga - so possible spoilers. Kinda fluffy.


Doing nothing was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.

Sebastian Michaelis lay immobile, staring listlessly at the ceiling. The pain had considerably lessened, but it was still _agonizing_. His breathing hitched, each intake of air sending sharp jolts of pain through his body, emanating from the ragged mess of flesh that was left of his stomach. The scythe had completely impaled him, entering through his back. The wound itself was horrific, would have killed a lesser man. Rather, a _human_ — and it had very nearly killed _him_.

The demon eyes fluttered, on the cusp of unconsciousness. He quickly rose, sitting up in the bed, groaning and clutching his stomach.

"Sebastian. What do you think you are doing?"

"Forgive me, Master . . . I find it quite difficult and tedious to simply lie here . . . Perhaps I should . . ."

"No. You are hurt, and you are going to stay right there. I do not care how long it takes; you are not leaving that bed until you are wholly recovered."

Sebastian laughed weakly, a small stream of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He covered his mouth and coughed wetly, his shoulders shaking. "Young Master, I'm afraid that I cannot wait that long. I shall heal — I always heal. But I have neither the time nor the patience to remain dormant for long."

He closed his eyes and winced, smiling wryly. "Besides, without me the manor shall descend into chaos and disrepair and then where would we be? It would take days to get everything back on schedule. I will take a day to recuperate, and then tomorrow —"

He trailed off, unable to stifle a gasp of surprise when Ciel touched him, cradling his head in his hands. Small, nimble fingers caressed his cheeks, smearing blood across the butler's otherwise pallid face. Ciel leaned in close, lips tickling Sebastian's ear as he whispered:

"Perhaps you didn't hear me the first time. I told you, you are not going to leave this bed until you are healed. _That is an __**order**_."

"Yes, my Young Lord." Sebastian laughed again, closing his eyes as he felt the boy gently lay him back down. His long, sweat-slicked black hair fanned out against the pillow, which by now was also stained with his blood. It seeped into the sheets beside and beneath him, so dark that it appeared to be black —dark, black ink. The stench of it all but overwhelming, tangy, bitter, metallic.

Sebastian kept his eyes closed, but his chest rattled and he wheezed with every breath. Even if he were to try to sleep, it would not be restful. It would be for nothing; he would not regain his strength and he would not heal. But his Master had commanded him, and he was bound to his will.

"This isn't good . . ." Ciel frowned, absently stroking his butler's forehead, chewing his bottom lip anxiously. His chest clenched, his heart fluttering with every pained inhale. "You really aren't going to be able to sleep, are you?"

The demon smiled an ugly, sinister smile. His sharp, alabaster teeth stained scarlet. "No my Young Lord, I shan't." His eyes flickered open, and he fixed Ciel with his stark, luminous red gaze. "Rather I should say, I shall sleep, if that is what you wish ― but it will be quite taxing for me."

"Taxing? Are you mad! How on earth can resting be _taxing_ for you? Is that not a contradiction?"

Sebastian's lips curved upward ―more of a grimace than a smile.

"Yes, my Lord, 'tis quite a contradiction . . . but surely you know there is a difference in 'resting' and 'sleeping?' "

"Of course I know that!" Ciel snapped irritably. "I just do not understand how the simple task of sleeping causes you exertion!"

"Perchance it is simple for you, my Lord, but I find that it requires a great deal of effort and concentration on my part."

"I do not understand you. There have been many times before when you have slept after an injury. Why should this be any different?"

Again Sebastian laughed, a bitter, humourless cackle.

"Do not confuse _that_ with sleep. As you know, it is quite difficult to injure me. I can be stabbed, I can be shot . . . all things that would kill you _humans_. However, when I am injured badly enough, my body simply shuts down — my heart stops beating, my lungs cease drawing breath; one would think me dead by human standards. For demons, it is simply what you would call . . . unconsciousness . . ."

He groaned harshly, eyes clenching shut as his body was seized by tremors. Abruptly, he felt a soft cloth press against his mouth and nose. "Breathe."

He did, inhaling deeply. Pungent, bitter vapour filled his nostrils, and Sebastian had to fight the urge to gag. Ciel pulled the cloth away, tracing his butler's cheeks and nose. His soft, icy skin.

"I am sorry, Sebastian. I know that it is rather unpleasant, but it will help you relax and ease some of your pain. Aunt Frances swears by it."

"I suppose the Marchioness should know, seeing as she is perpetually on death's threshold."

"Oh, shut up! I concede that she is quite a hypochondriac, but you should be grateful. She provided me an ample supply, and I gave you enough of it to kill a horse. Hopefully it will bring you some relief."

"But what was it you gave me, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I do mind. It is none of your concern."

"Well, then. Please tell the Marchioness Midford that I send her my deepest thanks."

"I shall."

Ciel stood there stiffly, arms crossed over his chest. He didn't speak, simply glared at Sebastian, who looked back at him mildly.

"Is there something you want, Young Master? If so, I shall gladly get up and fetch it for you. Whatever you wish, I will get it for you."

"You know what I want, Sebastian. I want you to go to sleep. The sooner you sleep, the sooner you will be well enough to get back to work. Do you dare to disobey me?"

"I do not. Frankly, I just cannot fathom why you concern yourself so about a servant's welfare."

" '_A servant?' _Surely you must know, after all this time, that that is not what you are to me."

"Oh? Then what am I, Young Lord?" Sebastian chuckled, his words beginning to slur.

Ciel's ears reddened. "I don't know! But you are not just 'a servant.' I don't know . . . you are more than that. You _mean_ more to me than that."

"S'that so? How very . . . comforting." Sebastian's voice trailed off drowsily. "And here I thought, after all these years, that you cared not a whit for me."

"Well, you were wrong."

"You humans are so . . . amusing." He closed his eyes, his breathing growing deep and even.

Ciel moved beside him, squeezing his gloved hand, lacing their fingers together in a rare gesture of affection. "I'm sorry that you have to lie here in such a mess. When you are able to be moved, I will have Meilyn wash the sheets."

Ciel paused, picturing in his mind the maid's horrified reaction as he tried to explain the bedsheets soaked in the butler's blood. "Then again, perhaps I should wash them myself."

Ciel moved his hand upward, pressing his fingers into Sebastian's neck. The demon's pulse beat rapidly against his fingertips, as frail and fluttery as a baby bird taking wing for the first time. It was very faint but proof, at least, that his heart was still beating.

"No, my Lord, I am sorry . . . for ruining your handkerchief."

"That doesn't matter. It's _cloth_; it can easily be washed."

Ciel released him, turning away and walking toward the door.

When he opened the door he turned, almost as an afterthought, and added:

"Sebastian, this is an order: you are not to move from that spot. You are to stay here, and to sleep until I tell you that sufficient time has passed. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my Young Lord. But . . . if it is alright, I have one request."

"And what is that?"

Sebastian opened his eyes, smiling sleepily at his young master.

"Will you stay here with me until I fall asleep?"


End file.
